THE Shoshones instantly stopped and one of them uttered an exclamation. It was easy for them to tell the direction from whence the unexpected sound had come, and all stood peering into the gloom, bows tightly grasped and hands ready to draw their arrows from the quivers and launch them at the instant demanded.
Victor was so incensed with Zigzag that he was tempted to send a bullet through his brain, but restrained himself. He whispered to George at his side:
“Don’t stir or speak, but be ready to shoot!”
His intention was to fire upon the Shoshones if they advanced upon them. Such an advance undoubtedly would have been made, for the hostiles could not have been aware of the real danger of it, but it was prevented by the unexpected appearance of the Blackfoot, who came hurrying down the pass on foot, and called to the Shoshones in their own tongue. The strangers immediately turned their attention to him, and the boys, from their covert, had the singular spectacle presented of a single warrior in seemingly friendly converse with five who were believed to be enemies.
“I don’t understand what he means,” whispered George; “do you?”
“Haven’t any idea, but it looks as if there’s going to be a fight. If it comes, you take the one to the left and I’ll drop him on the right; we mustn’t waste our bullets.”
“That will leave Mul-tal-la with three to fight.”
“But won’t we take a hand? We must jump right into it. After we have wiped them all out, I think I’ll knock Zigzag in the head—confound him! He’s to blame for all this.”
“Don’t be hasty, Victor. If Mul-tal-la needs our help he’ll call to us; he must know we are ready and won’t fail him.”
Meanwhile the Blackfoot was holding a talk with the five Shoshones, who made up the entire party. It seemed strange that a struggle did not open at once, but it may have been because the hostiles were ignorant of the force hiding beside the trail and holding them under their guns. An Indian, no more than a white man, likes to engage in a contest with a foe whose strength is unknown.
Suddenly, to the amazement of George and Victor Shelton, Mul-tal-la called to them:
“Let my brothers come forward; no harm shall be done them!”
“Well, that gets me!” muttered Victor. “I don’t know whether to obey him or not.”
“It won’t do to refuse, but we’ll be ready.”
Leaving their animals behind, the two straightened up and picked their way to the path, each firmly grasping his gun and resolute that there should be no repetition of the performance earlier in the day.
The obscurity did not prevent the brothers gaining a good view of the five warriors, who surveyed them with unconcealed interest as they came into the trail and halted behind the Blackfoot and several paces from the nearest Shoshone. The strangers resembled the warriors who were the companions of Black Elk, the chief. Though he could not be certain, George believed that one at least whom they had met that morning was with the party before him.
Mul-tal-la now told a remarkable story—so remarkable, indeed, that the boys could not credit it. These five Shoshones were the ones to whom Black Elk had signaled by means of his camp-fire, and to which they had replied later in the day. But the exchange of messages was meant as a friendly interference in behalf of the Blackfoot and his companions.
The chief had good reason to believe that a hunting party of Cas-ta-ba-nas were in the mountains, and a meeting between them and the travelers was almost certain. The Cas-ta-ba-nas were a small tribe whose villages and hunting grounds were to the eastward of the principal range of the Rockies. They were small in numbers, but of warlike disposition, and were often engaged in hostilities with others of their race. They were wise enough, however, not to molest the Shoshones or Snakes, who were so much more numerous and powerful that they would have exterminated the whole tribe had provocation been given. It would not be far from the truth to say the Cas-ta-ba-nas were vassals of the Shoshones.
It appeared to be the fate of the smaller tribe to become involved to a greater degree with the whites than were others of their race. This may have been because the most productive beaver-runs were in their section of the West, and consequently more trappers were drawn hither. There had been a fight the preceding winter between three white men and a party of Cas-ta-ba-nas, in which two of the latter were killed. This inflamed the anger of the tribe toward the palefaces. What more likely, therefore, than that, when they came upon a couple of the hated race under the escort of a single Blackfoot, they should destroy all three?
Black Elk, therefore, as the extraordinary story ran, had signalled to the Shoshones to warn the Cas-ta-ba-nas that they must not molest the little party on their way through their country. If they violated the command Black Elk would make sure that they suffered therefor.
This was the story told to the boys, and which impressed them as incredible.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Victor, who did not hesitate to speak plainly, inasmuch as Mul-tal-la was the only Indian present who could understand his words; “do you?”
“Mul-tal-la does not know; it may be true.”
“How could Black Elk tell all this to another party of Shoshones by means of the smoke of his camp-fire?” asked George Shelton.
“He could not.”
“Then how did these people get his message?”
“This Shoshone,” replied the Blackfoot, indicating the warrior whom the youth believed he had met before, “was with Black Elk. He sent him to find these Shoshones with the word from the chief; but it took him a long time to find them; that is why we did not see the return to the signal till the day was near done.”
“What need was there of his finding the others? Couldn’t he have given the message to the Cas-ta-ba-nas himself without asking anyone to help him?”
“That he would have done had he not found his friends before darkness came. It may be,” added Mul-tal-la significantly, “that the Cas-ta-ba-nas are more afraid of five Shoshones than of a single one.”
“It may all be as you say, Mul-tal-la, but Victor and I find it mighty hard to believe it; but we’ll do as you wish. What’s the next step?”
“Let my brothers bring their horses to the path.”
George and Victor obeyed, and a few minutes later the three emerged into the dim light. Victor used the occasion to give Zigzag a spiteful kick as a reminder of his offense, but feared that the plodding, contrary animal was not much benefited by the discipline.
While the lads were thus employed Mul-tal-la and the Shoshones came to an understanding. The travelers were to resume their journey through the mountains, the five friends—if such they really were—maintaining the lead, with the Blackfoot riding next and his companions in the order already named.
“That suits me,” was the comment of Victor. “I never would have those villains walking behind us; it would be too easy for one to send an arrow through me when I wasn’t thinking. If they try any trick now two or three of them are sure to go down. I wish I knew whether or not they are lying.”
“We shall have to wait and find out.”
“And while we are doing that they may lead us into a trap. Ah! if we only had Deerfoot with us! They wouldn’t fool him, though he never saw a Shoshone unless he has met one since we left him. Seems to me, George, it’s about time that young chap showed up.”
“I don’t think we need look for him for several days. You remember he told us as much. He isn’t thinking of anyone now except Whirlwind, and he won’t let that horse run the risk of falling lame.”
“And when Deerfoot does turn up he’ll have the stallion trained so well that he’ll know more than all our horses together, which isn’t much. But we haven’t any time to think of them. Mul-tal-la is nobody’s fool, and I don’t think he is likely to let this party outwit him, but I’ll be glad when we are rid of them.”
“Suppose they stay with us till we meet the Cas-ta-ba-nas and then join them in attacking us?”
“That’s the thing I’ve been thinking about. You see, though there are five of the Shoshones now, they have no weapons except bows and arrows. We have three guns and they have learned about them from the white men they have fought. So what is more likely than that they are afraid to put up a fight until they have help?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if it is as you say. I haven’t heard how many the Cas-ta-ba-nas are in this part of the country, but if they don’t number more than the Shoshones the two parties will be too many for us to handle.”
“We’ll make it interesting, anyway,” sturdily replied Victor.
It was a strange procession that filed through the mountains, the five Shoshones stalking forward in Indian file, with Mul-tal-la riding close to the last, then George Shelton and his brother, with Zigzag patiently plodding at the rear, it being deemed safe to leave him in that position, since there was no call for extra precaution, and he had little or no chance to disturb the arrangements.
By and by the moon appeared above the range and added to the dim light that had thus far guided the two parties. The trail which they were following proved easier of travel than at the beginning. Twice they had to cross small streams, but the rushing water was no more than a few inches deep and the footing of the animals was secure. Then they wound along a precipice, reaching downward fully a hundred feet, where the path was so narrow that there was scant room for a single laden horse. Peering into the gloomy depth the brothers felt a shrinking, for the slip of any one of their horses would have brought woeful consequences. George and Victor drew a sigh of relief when they reached a safer place.
Here the trail broadened for many yards, and traveling was all that anyone could wish. The progress was deliberate and seemingly as automatic as if regulated by machinery. The line of Shoshones did not increase nor slacken its gait, even when treading the narrow portion which caused the lads disquiet.
Unexpectedly in making a turn they came upon a camp-fire burning some rods to the left of the trail and in an open space. The first glance showed that fully a dozen warriors were grouped about it, some lolling on the ground or on boulders, several standing up, and most of them smoking long-stemmed pipes, which were made from a peculiar red clay found in the vicinity. They had evidently eaten their evening meal some time before.
“The Cas-ta-ba-nas!” exclaimed George, speaking over his shoulder to his brother.
The Critical Moment.
The Shoshones halted and spoke to Mul-tal-la, who dismounted and talked with them for a few minutes. Then the Blackfoot addressed the boys:
“Let my brothers wait till Mul-tal-la comes back to them.”
With that he turned off with the Shoshones, who headed straight for the camp of the Cas-ta-ba-nas, the party straggling forward without any regard to order. George and Victor remained seated on their horses, watching the singular scene.
The glow of the fire, added to the moonlight, made everything more or less visible. The arrival of the visitors naturally caused a stir. The Cas-ta-ba-nas who were seated rose to their feet, and immediately an earnest conversation began. Hosts and guests could be seen gesticulating vigorously, and across the intervening space came the odd sounds made by their peculiar manner of speaking. Speculating and wondering, the boys watched and awaited the issue of the curious incident. They looked for a sudden outbreak, though hopeful it would be averted. If the Shoshones meant to play false, their treachery would speedily appear. The conclusion could not be delayed longer than a few minutes.
While the brothers were intently studying the picture the Blackfoot was seen to withdraw from the group and walk hurriedly back to where he had left his friends. Shoshones and Cas-ta-ba-nas stayed where they were, but gazed after him and at the forms of the boys and horses not far off.
“We shall now know what’s up,” said George Shelton.
“Whatever it is, the decision has been made.”
Mul-tal-la came up, cool and collected, but clearly agitated.
“It is as my brothers hoped,” were his words. “Black Elk did as his warriors said; the Cas-ta-ba-nas have been told that he will slay anyone of them that dares hurt Mul-tal-la or the palefaces with him. They dare not disobey the words of the great Black Elk. No harm shall come from them to us. Let us go on.”
And so it proved that chivalry is not dead even among the American Indians.